


A Story Of Two Soldiers

by Nomberr



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Buzzfeed, Great Depression, Historical References, History, I'm going to try and be as accurate as I can but i'm not a history teacher don't sue me, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Ryan and Shane go through so much, Sad, Slow Burn, The Try Guys, Trench Warfare, War, World War II, im sorry, it's gonna be long so buckle up, tragic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2019-11-17 17:12:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18102863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nomberr/pseuds/Nomberr
Summary: "..this odd boy with skin too dark and clothes too big was rescuing me, me of all people. Shane Madej doesn’t get rescued, he gets into fights he can’t finish and has too much nerve for his own good.People like Shane Madej get beat up and people like Ryan Bergara mind their business. You never see two people like us in books teaming up, that would be absurd. But then again, I never was a fan of books. "~Ryan Bergara and Shane Madej are childhood friends, torn apart by the hands of war. Until the day comes that war is the one thing that can bring them back together.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *EDIT*  
> Hey so I had posted this once before, but I went back and combined the two chapters I had written into one because it just flowed a bit better, plus fixed some minor details. I should be back on track for actually adding new content now! Hope you enjoy!

-1936-

(Shane)

It was particularly hot that spring. Sitting inside the schoolhouse, I could feel beads of sweat gathering along my forehead. The air felt heavy with the heat, laying like a thick blanket over the small classroom. Our teacher refused to open the windows because she didn’t want any bugs to get in. I don’t remember her name now, but I can recall that she had pretty eyes, bright blue with a halo of gold around the center. I pick up on things like that, little details that nobody else pays any mind too. I can notice lot’s of things, the birthmark on Catherine’s wrist that she always tries to hide (Catherine was my first crush, she had such pretty blonde hair), how deep Chester’s dimples are when he laughs (Second crush, he had red hair, which was weird, but I loved his laugh, his whole body would shake, like the laugh was too great to be contained in such a small kid.) Stuff like that. I can also notice what people are thinking about. Lot’s of adults like to say things, even though they don’t mean them. I always know when they do this. Mom does this a lot, smiles when she’s not really happy. I make sure to be extra nice to her on those days, it’s a nice thing, to see a fake smile become something real. I like real things, that’s what I’m drawn too.

I hate reading for that reason. Books are fake, the stories are all made up. I’m fascinated by real stories. After church when my mom is shopping, I liked to stop and listen to the older salesmen. They always had such good stories, especially the man who sold the quilts. He would sit and hold the fabric while his wife sewed, and talk to me about his life, being in The Great War, Running away to the city, protesting in labor unions. He always got such a twinkle in his eye when he talked about these things. You could practically see him gazing through the fabric of the quilts and into the past, eyes fixated on the memories he could just barely grasp through the threads, trying to tie together every little detail he could. I had never seen a person so happy then I did when he talked. But that was nothing when compared to how he looked at his wife as she focused on the quilts. He left the city, his job, everything, just to follow her back to the country. That’s a real love story, much better than any book or poem we had to read in class. 

I suppose that’s why I don’t pay attention, always got in trouble for that. I was too busy watching a bee fluttering by the window to know half of what was going on in class. Today I was studying the lines in my hands, the way they broke apart and forked in different directions when the teacher called my name.

“Madej!” 

My eyes flicked up to the front of the room, all the other students spun around to look at me, my cheeks flushed and I looked up at the teacher, whose brows were furrowed in frustration. I swallowed and looked at the board, written in chalk was a math equation, it was easy, something me and my mom had covered over the summer. She liked to have me study year round, so I was always ahead. 

“Would you like to join us, Mr. Madej?” The teachers' voice was shrill, her hands fiddling with a ruler. She slapped the small piece of wood onto the board, the students jumped from the noise, as did I. I looked at the equation, I knew how to solve it, but something was off. My eyes flicked over the numbers, she had solved the first half of the problem, leaving only the last part to me but- Ah.

“Maybe if you had paid attention you would know how to solve it.” The teacher scoffed and crossed her arms. The dress didn’t fit her right, it stretched and folded around her arms in all the wrong ways. My mom could fix that easy, I should bring that up to her later. 

“Now someone else in the class, please tell me how to solve it!” She looked around and nobody raised a hand. A girl in the back, Chester’s sister (you could tell because of the hair, both red. The sister was older though, with more freckles.) raised her hand tentatively. The teacher seemed happy for a brief moment.

“Don’t bother.” Everyone turned back to me, I cleared my throat. “You won’t be able to solve it.”

“And why is that? I’m sure Emily is more than capable!” The teacher glowered at me. 

“Because it’s already wrong...Miss.” I nodded toward the board. “The first part isn’t correct. you didn’t carry the 5.” Several of the younger kids in the class giggled. I couldn’t help but begin to smirk. 

“Well that’s not-” The teacher looked at the board and red began to spread across her cheeks. “I-well-” She huffed and started erasing the equation, small whispers began to spread among the older kids, eyes flicking over to me. The younger kids were still giggling, I couldn’t help but smile. I always did have a knack for mischief. 

-1944-

That knack for mischief followed me my whole life. In New York, I made a living out of it. I found myself working in Journalism, my specialty was covering stories on unfair labor practices. It was easy to get stories on bad companies, everyone was willing to talk bad about their boss, that’s just human nature. My skills with a camera were helpful as well, people always seemed to respond to visuals better than words, I know I always do. 

This week’s edition was a personal favorite of mine. I watched the newsboys carry out the papers, my article had made the front page. It was big, covering a local bank that I had discovered to be defying The Emergency Banking Act. It would catch people’s attention, anything about the banks did after the stock market crash. My only regret was that there was no picture, couldn’t find anything compelling enough to publish. I watched the papers get distributed as the workers walked along the street for their morning shifts. Just as I suspected, people flocked to the paper. I smirked, an old familiar smirk as the chaos ensued. A hand clamped down on my shoulder and I turned around. The smile slid off my face as I looked at none other than Steven Lim. He was a manager at the bank. I felt my face go pale. 

“What a shame, I missed the publication. Suppose I’ll have to get a private copy.” His face was pulled into a forced smile, his lips pressed together into a thin line.He always had such an odd smile. It was hard, looked as if it was drawn on in pen with a shaky hand, it didn’t quite fit his face. I smiled back nonetheless.

“Suppose you will.” I tried to pull away, but his hand remained clamped on my shoulder. I looked down, his fingers were draped in several gold rings, they glinted, even in the faint morning light. I looked back down at the smaller man, raising an eyebrow. He chuckled, it was dry, his breath hit my face, smelling of cigars. He nodded toward the street and my eyes flicked over, a car was parked by the sidewalk. A Jaguar XK120, an expensive car, costs more than my apartment. A man stepped out of the car and opened the door. My smile slipped off my face so fast I could practically hear it smack down on the pavement.

Steven laughed and gave my shoulder a quick pat before strutting off toward the car. Everything about him was despicable, his suit and his rings and his car, he was like a peacock flaunting his tail feathers to a bunch of pigeons. All of the newsboys gawked at the scene, most of them never have seen anything so expensive in their lives. A few of them looked to me, surprised. I wasn’t known for hanging about with the high-class crowd, quite the opposite actually, most business owners in New York hated me. Mr Lim now included. I’m used to getting heat for some of my publications but this was- well this was bad. I half contemplated running off, but I had the sense that would only make things worse, so I reluctantly smiled and clambered into the car. The man in the suit slammed the door shut behind me and I rolled down the window, waving to the newsboys. I noticed a bottle of liquor sitting in a cup holder by my feet and quickly picked it up and tossed it out to the nearest boy. 

“Good luck with the papes today boys!”

He caught it and smiled, waving at me as the driver pulled up the window, casting me a glare through the rear view. I just smiled back, it’s all I could do in the current situation, and it seemed to really piss Steven off, so I just kept on grinning, watching the street rush by as the papers circulated. Whatever he planned to do to me now wouldn’t matter, the man was going to be ruined by noon and no scary men in suits or fancy cars were going to save him. 

-1936-

After school that day I had been the last to leave the schoolhouse, I had been distracted by a loose ribbon in Milly’s hair when the bell rung, the Teacher had practically smacked me on the head with the ruler to get me moving. I had hastily gathered my things and shoved them into my satchel before hurrying outside, greeting by the harsh evening sun. I held a hand over my eyes as I descended the steps. Many kids were lingering around, waiting for their parents to come to walk them home, or chatting about plans for the evening. I knew my way home so I started off around the schoolhouse, running my hand along the faded wood as I wandered toward the path back to town. The schoolhouse was a ways away from home, as my mom and I lived in the middle of town where all the shops were, the school was on the outskirts, as to not be disrupted by the hustle of the streets. As I turned the corner along the edge of the school, I was greeted by several boys, older than me by a few years, probably around 15 or 16. They all turned to me in sync, moving together like clockwork as they looked me up and down before approaching, smiles plastered on their sunburnt faces. 

I don’t remember their names, I don’t think they ever told me. Names were something you gave out to people who deserved them. Most people in town I knew their last names, that was usually given in pleasantries. Last names were carried carefully, you could know a lot about a person through their last name. They held history, they held...status. When you heard Madej you knew I was a tailor, or at least my family is. My mother’s family has been tailoring for as long as the town has existed. You heard Madej, you knew exactly who I was and where I stand in the town hierarchy. First names were different, they were held with care, only given out to friends and family. Not many people called me Shane, I didn’t mind. I liked Madej, my mom was always so unbearably proud of it so I tried to be as well.

“Hey there Madej.” A boy with a large nose hissed, my name sounded wrong in his mouth, he spoke through his teeth so the j sounded all wrong. I shuddered and stepped back as the boys began slowly approaching. 

“Nice job in class today.” The boy with the curly hair sneered, a harsh giggle rising in his throat. 

“Real smart Madej, little too smart don’t you guys think?” One stepped to the front of the group. Micheal, we had been friends when we were younger. But one day I brought a frog into his house and his mom didn’t let us play anymore. He was different now, hair longer, falling over his hollow cheeks. His eyes were...they looked sad. I didn’t know it at the time but the bank in charge of his family’s business had closed down, he was practically starving by that point. But kids that age didn’t talk about that. We didn’t admit to hurting, so often times we would just hurt others. Micheal was a good kid when were younger, but now he’s all venom, fangs bared and ready to strike me down. 

“I study a lot...it was an easy equation.” I keep moving back, trying to look between each boy as quickly as I could, If I could just make it to the sidewalk, I could make a run for town. Or I could go back to the schoolhouse and call for the teacher, but that would just make things worse. Snitches don’t fair well in this town. 

“Wasn’t easy to me. What are you trying to say, Madej, that I’m stupid?” Michael got close, too close, he smelled of smoke and wood, the scent washed over me and I desperately tried to back away. But another boy was behind me now, grabbing the back of my coat. I went to spin around but Michael grabbed my face. “Do I look stupid to you Madej?” He was staring right at me, fingernails burying into my cheek, I grimaced and almost shook my head. Almost.

“No, but then again neither does your mother and we all know she’s a dunce.” The words poured out of me before I could spare a second thought. I didn’t mean them, I liked Michaels mom, but I just couldn’t help myself. 

Michael’s face twisted into a snarl and he lifted his knee into my stomach, I let out a gasp and stumbled forward, reaching up and landing a punch on his jaw. He stumbled back and I tried to pull away from the boy holding my coat, but the other two boys were on me in seconds. I was in a tangle of limbs, struggling like an animal to escape. I felt my knuckles catch someone’s nose before my legs were swept out from under me. I fell forward, hitting the dirt, my elbow catching most of my fall and sending fire shooting up my arm. I look up at the faces looming above me. They were smiling, cackling as I tried to crawl away. A foot caught me in the side and I fell down, curling in on myself, trying to protect my screaming ribs. Their laughter swarmed around me, mixing with blood and dirt and running along my skin, slicing me to bits. Another foot caught my jaw, and my world was splashed in shades of reds and purples. I fell to my side, holding my arms over my face, arms shaking profusely. More kicks came, I gritted my teeth, trying not to make a sound, to give them the satisfaction of a reaction.

They always got worse when I put up a fuss. I’d been hit, bullied before but this...this was different. He ducked down and grabbed my throat, squeezing tight. I coughed and cried out, grabbing his hands. He leaned in close, I could hear his teeth grinding together. 

“You think you’re so smart and clever Madej, but you’re not. You're a fool and a low life just like your father.” I’ve never heard words full of such fire. Red hot anger sparked up in my chest. Strength spurred in me that I didn’t know I had and I grabbed his shirt and pulled him to the ground. I rolled over and pinned him down, I reared my hand up to punch him when another boy hit me in the side of the head, catching my ear. I stumbled, a sharp ringing shooting through my head. I caught dirt in my mouth and spit it out, trying to sit back up but they just kicked me back down. I stayed down. As sharp as my tongue was I never was a fighter. I would start fights that I never could finish, but no amount of beatings could shut me up. All this would happen and I’d come back tomorrow and do the same exact thing over again. Beatings are nothing in comparison to a well-delivered quip. Maybe that’s not something a normal person would think, but then again I never was normal. 

There was a pause in the beating. The boys stopped and I looked up to see their faces twisted in confusion, then fear. Michael, who had his foot pressed against my chest hadn’t seen what the other boys had seen, he was looking at me. Face red with face and heat. Out of nowhere, a boy appeared, slamming Michael to the ground in a blur of blue. I could barely register the other boys' movements. He pressed Michael into the dirt, twisting his arm behind his back. Michael cried out and thrashed beneath his grip.

“Get off me freak!” He shrieked, the kid didn’t flinch. He pushed Michael’s arm further, eyes narrowed in an icy glare. If Michael was all fire this boy was all ice. Hair slicked back and sleek, while Michael’s curls fell in a mess over his eyes. The boy turned to me, his dark gaze meeting mine. 

“I can break it if you want, your call.” He wasn’t smiling, but I could see the ghost of one dancing behind his eyes. The other boys had begun to break away and start heading toward the path. Michael was screaming. 

“Let me go! You get your dirty-” The boy jerked his arm and Michael gasped in pain. The boy leaned down, speaking into Michael’s ear.

“Finish that sentence.” His eyes flicked back to me and his head jerked, just slightly toward Michael’s arm. I paused, shaken by the image before me. This random boy, who I had never seen had rushed to my aid and was now asking my permission to break my bullies arm.

I almost said yes. 

The teacher turned the corner of the schoolhouse and gasped. At the sight. The boy quickly got off Michael and dusted himself off, he was in an oversized shirt and shorts, his socks were uneven, one rolled down and one pulled up to his knee. He looked ridiculous, and incredible all at once.

“Mr. Bergara!” The teacher began bounding toward us. The boy, Bergara rushed over to me and grabbed my arm. His hands were rough against my skin. He smelled disgusting, like animals and sweat. He pulled me to my feet and started off toward the woods, I skidded to a stop, looking over at the teacher who had ran to Michael, who was currently crying on the ground. I burst into a laugh and the Bergara kid tilted his head. Strands of black hair fell into his tan face and he quickly tucked them aside. 

“What’s so funny?”

Nothing was funny, this was the worst. I would most definitely get in unbearable amounts of trouble for this. But yet, this odd boy with skin too dark and clothes too big was rescuing me, me of all people. Shane Madej doesn’t get rescued, he gets into fights he can’t finish and too much nerve for his own kid. People like Shane Madej get beat up and people like Bergara mind their business. You never see two people like us in books teaming up, that absurd. But then again, I never was a fan of books. 

“Nothing just-” I managed the words out between wheezes. I turned away from the teacher and Michael and toward the towards, taking a breath. 

“I’m Shane.” I held out a large hand to the boy. He looked at it, confused almost before extending his own. His hands were dirty and the skin was rough. I didn’t mind though. I didn’t mind any of this strange kid. I was giving him my name after all, and you don’t give those out to just anybody. 

“I’m Ryan.” 

“Ryan,” I repeated his name. It fit right in my mouth, settling just nicely on my tongue. I felt a smile creeping onto my lips. 

“Nice to meet you, Ryan, let’s get out of here.”

 

-1944-

I couldn’t help but think about Ryan now, as I’m being beaten to a pulp in the back alleyway of some club. Lim and his thugs had made sure I was properly compensated for my edition in the newspaper. It wasn’t too bad, except for Lim’s rings. Every time he punched me with those they caught on my skin and left large pink welts. I gritted my teeth, just like I used to and stayed low to the ground. Until finally they got bored and left me there, spitting out blood and dirt onto the pavement. I groaned, my whole body burning as I leaned against the wall. 

My head throbbed with every little movement. I could call for help, but in this part of town, getting a taxi was unlikely unless you were throwing money through the windows. So I stayed, bruised and beaten in the dark alley, nobody there to rescue me now. I stared up at the clouds hanging above the buildings surrounding me, painted in pink and yellow from the sunrise. I tried to reach into those clouds, grasp distant memories of schoolyards and bullies and old friends. I could only pick out bits and pieces, and one name stuck out in particular as I tried to dive into those memories.

Ryan Bergara

A distant memory, just barely there on the edge of my mind. The name brought me comfort, a small reminder of a time when I had someone who could come and rescue me in times like these. 

But alas, Ryan Bergara is not here to save me this time.

-1936-  
(Ryan)  
Shane had to be the oddest kid I had ever seen. He was tall, skinny, with legs way too long for the rest of his body. Not to mention a head so big it looked like it was going to fall right off his shoulders. I couldn’t help but stare at his strange features as we walked along through the woods separating the town and my families farm. The woods weren’t too thick along this area, so the lanky boy was able to navigate it pretty well, even with his injuries from the fight. But he was bleeding a lot from the face, his jaw looked like it was starting to swell and he’d likely have a nasty bruise the next morning. It was...odd...imagining a boy like him covering in scrapes and bruises. In his nice sweater and short hair, he seemed like the type to be too cooped up at home reading rather than out getting into fights. He didn’t look right all banged up, it was like when mom and I went out into the town to buy coats for the winter, we stuck out among the town people. We didn’t belong out in the streets, wandering through the market, just like Shane didn’t belong in the forest, stumbling over roots and swearing at the heat. 

“Damn it!” Shane cursed, tripping over a rock jutting out of the ground, he tumbled forward and hastily grasped onto a nearby tree, scraping his hand on the bark. He was a flurry of long limbs, flailing about in an awkward fashion. I would have laughed if I didn’t feel so bad for the kid. Instead, I just gave a silent gesture to continue on forward, grabbing his sleeve and pulling him deeper into the woods. 

(Shane)  
Ryan continued guiding me into the forest. I was hoping he was heading toward town but everything was getting dark and confusing. The sun had begun to set, casting an odd shadow through the trees, making the forest appear distorted by the darkness. I followed him, not really knowing why. This kid did just save me from a royal ass kicking, but still I didn’t know him. As far as I knew he was taking me back into the woods to cut my head off and feed it to some coyotes. It didn’t help that the kid hadn’t said a word since his daring rescue. He just kept looking at me with those big brown eyes, his eyebrows furrowed in an inquisitive glare. I tried to ignore it, to pay attention to the things I kept tripping over. But the silence was starting to grow deafening. 

(Ryan)  
“Where are you from?” Shane asked, eyes quickly darting between me and the forest around us. His words sounded familiar yet- I couldn’t quite place them. I only knew a few, scattered fragments of phrases. I pieced together something my father taught me, something he told me to use when I was confused or lost. 

“Excuse me?” 

(Shane)  
He was staring at me now, a look of confusion spread across his face. I felt a blush creep onto my cheeks. 

Damn it, Shane, stop being an idiot. 

(Ryan)  
“No I meant- you just don’t look like- I mean you’re not American right? Well I mean of course you are you live in America just you’re not-No I just mean I haven’t seen you in town before and I’ve never met someone like you-”

His words kept spilling out. An endless stream. I tried desperately to claw at them, try to find the ones I recognized but they were coming too fast. Swarming around my head and filling my ears with senseless humming. Suddenly it stopped and he was looking at me expectantly. I opened and closed my mouth a few times before red crept onto my cheeks. 

(Shane)  
There’s that stare again. His mouth was opening and closing, the ghosts of syllables seeming to dance on his tongue. He was blushing too now, standing out on the dark shade of his skin. He muttered a response, quiet and unintelligible through a thick accent before his eyes darted away. My eyes widened in shock and my jaw dropped for a moment before I forced myself to shut it. 

“I’m sorry-” He began to apologize and I shook my head, ignoring the way the world spun with the movement. 

“No my apologies I didn’t mean-” I struggled to find the right words, before realizing that with him it wouldn’t matter either way. I settled with, “What language do you speak?”

“A few- I can speak English I just can’t- hard to understand sometimes. You speak fast.” 

I liked his accent, it suited him. The way the letters flowed so nicely together. Every word he spoke sounded purposeful, carefully picked out and strung together. They didn’t quite fit together yet it was suitable, reminded me of how my mother would patch together old rags into quilts, all the different fabrics coming together into one big beautiful piece. I was so caught up in it I tripped again, accidentally grabbing onto his shoulder. It felt firm beneath my hand, all the muscles bound up tight. 

“Sorry, sorry.” I was apologizing again. I never apologized to people this much it’s just this Ryan kid, the way he stared at me, like everything I did was a nuisance, I wanted to be a bit less burdensome, less of a flailing brute. This kid was small and dirty and cheekbones that jutted out so far I’m sure he could cut me with them. He was so much smaller then me I wanted to just wrap myself around him and protect him from the shadows currently creeping out from the treeline, ironic considering he was the one who just saved me. At this point, if he led me into a den of coyotes, I’m sure I would apologize when one of them choked on my shin. 

(Ryan)  
This boy apologizes too much. I tried to brush the moment away, move on from the awkward encounter and continue on, leading him again into the darkness. Thankfully we were almost there, we broke through the trees and into the field surrounding my barn. Shane paused, looking unsure. I gestured again for him to follow. 

“Let’s go legs unless you wish to freeze I suggest we go in.” 

(Shane)  
Legs? I take it back, this kid is snarky. Not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, suppose I’ll find out. 

“I thought we were heading back to town?” I tried to speak slowly. 

“Teacher would follow, you want to get in trouble?” He tilts his head, a few loose strands of hair falling into his face. He quickly tucks it back, the grease in his hair smoothing the strands easily back into place. I wish my hair did that, it fell in a loose mess over my forehead. I tried to smooth it back then as well, hoping it would look cool. It probably didn’t. 

“I guess you’re right. This your barn?” 

He gave a nod before turning back and heading toward the worn out red building. The barn looked ancient like it could cave in at the slightest gust of wind. When he opened the wooden doors, I could hear the hinges screech in protest, like a warning for all those about to enter that those who dare come in, may never return. That’s what meeting Ryan was like. This odd little farm boy who was too strong for his age and spoke in broken fragments. He was the exact person who my mother would pull me away from in the market and tell me to avoid. He was short and quiet and kinda creepy...and yet here I was, following him into his old barn at sundown, not knowing what could lay inside. (If I were to guess, however, I would go for coyotes, definitely.) Despite all of my instincts (and fear of coyotes) telling me otherwise, I followed him into the dark barn and hoped for the best. 

-1944-  
(Shane)  
I had woken up later in the day, sore and stiff from passing out in the alleyway. I had managed to half walk, half stumble back to my apartment building. Nearly puking as I clambered up the stairs. As soon as I made it inside I fell down onto my couch and slept until nightfall. I woke up again, sweaty, bloody and dehydrated. I made my way to my sink and ducked down, drinking straight from the faucet. The water bubbled on my lips and dripped down my chin, making me shudder from the cold. But I didn’t care, water had never tasted quite so good then right there at that moment. I shut my eyes, taking some in my hands and splashing it onto my face, letting the cold envelope me, and for a moment, take me away from the shit show that was today.

(Ryan)  
I was awoken by a splash of freezing cold water, dumped over my upper body, soaking my shirt to the skin. I sat up in a flash, gasping and sputtering. The soldier who had awoken me shook his head and handed me the bucket. I was confused for a moment before my body seized and I retched inside. The soldier grabbed my shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze before leaving me there, shaking and shivering over the bucket. There were others around me, rushing around and shouting, but my head hurt too much for me to focus. I just stared inside the bucket, the sight of vomit somehow more appealing than the chaos of what I could only assume to be the med tent. 

“Bergara!” 

Someone shouted my name. My eyes flicked up to find Eugene rushing toward me, a smile spread across his face. Everything around him seemed blurred, fading together into one smear of color. I couldn’t really hear him until he was crouched in front of me, holding my face in his hand and studying me with eyes full of worry. 

“Really did a number on your head yeah? Well better than most, that guy Murphey from our tent lost a leg.” He shook his head and looked at me again, a soft smile settling on his lips. “Glad you made it Ryan.” 

His hand left me and I missed the warmth, now I was just shivering, gripping the bucket and trying to grapple with whatever it was that just happened. There was a battle, that much was certain, but there were so many of those lately they all just seemed to fuse together, I didn’t know when I was fighting and when I wasn’t. Perhaps I was always fighting, always have been, and maybe I always will. My eyes settle on a first aid kit, and my mind is brought back to a battle that I fought ages ago. 

-1936-  
(Ryan)  
I pulled a first aid kit out from a rusted metal shelf hanging beside various farm tools. I set the white metal tin on the ground and pulled out various things, bandages, alcohol, some cloth, and set it down on a hay bale that Shane had settled down on. I pulled open the alcohol and poured a bit on Shane’s hand where he grazed it in the forest. He hissed and pulled away, gripping his hand in pain. I couldn’t help but roll my eyes.  
“It’s going to get infected.” I reach out again for his hand and he hesitantly gives it back. He bites back a whine as I pour more on before grabbing the bandages and starting to wrap it. 

“Nice barn.” He commented, he didn’t mean it, the barn sucked. It was just too fill the silence I suppose. Never understood why people did that, silence didn’t always need to be filled, quiet is good, preferable in my opinion at times. People like him liked to waste words just so they didn’t have to be alone with their thoughts. People don’t realize how valuable words really are, but I suppose they don’t mean as much when they come easily when you have to spend extra care figuring out what to say, greater respect is earned for speech I guess. I don’t waste words If I don’t have anything to say I don’t speak. So I didn’t then. I stayed quiet.

(Shane)  
Ryan didn’t answer anything I said, he just kept splashing me with alcohol and I kept whining like a pansy, which makes sense because he’s odd. I continued to babble on nonetheless, making comments about the little things I picked up on in the barn. Making several jokes about the sheep huddled in the corner who reminded me of my mother in her bathrobe. He didn’t laugh, not once. It was odd usually I could make people laugh, then again he didn’t look like the laughing type. He seemed to like his face was always stuck in that stoic expression. I felt bad, this kid needed to laugh, I was going to see to it that he would. I owed him that much after his little rescue mission. 

(Ryan)  
Shane had stopped talking. He went deathly quiet, staring off, eyes focused on something in the distance. He was thinking hard about something, I could practically see the gears in his head turning. It wasn’t until I tried putting alcohol on his jaw that he snapped back to reality, pulling away immediately. He had instinctively grabbed my wrist, clutching at me with his boney fingers. He realized what he was doing and let go, laughing nervously.

“It’s fine just leave it-”

“It’ll hurt worse if it-”

“Gets infected I know. Look mom I appreciate it but-”

“I am not your mother.” I glared at him and he laughed again, shaking the hay bale with the force of the movement. 

“Well yeah obviously but…” He feigned a perplexed expression, scratching his forehead in pretend confusion. “But wow you know what now that I’m looking at it you do look a lot like her. Not to mention the glare is spot on!” I blush a bright pink and shove him, pushing him back into a pile of hay. He collapses into the heap, his leg’s sticking out and flailing awkwardly as he sunk into the yellow strings. He looks at me with wide eyes and points a finger at me. “That’s something my mother surely would do!” 

I can’t help but laugh. The look on his face is simply insane, his eyes all wide and his mouth agape. I let the laugh slip out, trying to muffle it with my hand as not to be too loud. I snort, which doesn’t help and he begins to laugh as well. 

“Did that remind you of your mother too?” 

Shane gasps, jaw dropping to the floor as he struggles to sit up, hands slipping through the hay. 

“How dare you! My mother is no swine-” He sinks further into the pile, limbs kicking madly to try and keep himself upright. I’m roaring at this point, falling back onto the hay bale and holding my stomach, practically wheezing in amusement. He feigns disgust and grabs a fistful of hay, throwing it at me. I laugh and throw some back, a fight breaking out.

Shane.

His laugh rings through the air, making my embarrassing plight of trying to escape from the hay worth it. There is hay raining down all around us, making a mess of the dirty old barn. Ryan’s got hay in his hair, which is now falling every which way in a big greasy mess. He stops and tries to fix it, I sit up and tussle it up more, making him giggle as he struggles to swat my hands away. He eventually just grabs my wrists, leans into my ear and makes one loud pig squeal before diving back into the hay. I laugh so much my ribs hurt, diving after him. 

We’re going to be friends, that much I was sure of. 

-1944-  
(Ryan)  
I couldn’t remember what it was that had made me laugh. But looking at the first aid kit, something about the glint of sunlight in the white metal just made me laugh. The movement hurt, every little giggle making my head scream in protest. But it was just good to laugh. I don’t laugh much these days, and even in my delirious state, I felt a bit better just letting the soft chortle leave my lips. 

Then I remembered. The old barn, the first aid kit...Shane. I haven’t seen Shane in such a long time. I wished then, my mind a jumble of old memories and new nightmares that I could see Shane again. To laugh again as I did in that barn. I would forget ever making that wish once I had recovered later on. But at that moment I had never wanted anything more, clung to a memory with such desperation for the fleeting joy that it granted me at that moment. I was so caught up in remembering that I had forgotten what my mother always used to warn me about growing up. 

Be careful what you wish for. 

(Shane)  
After the excitement of the morning, I had entered my house in such a quick fashion I had failed to notice a letter that had been slid through my mail slot. I would fail to notice it again as I lay down for bed that night. But still, it lay there by my door, its contents unnoticed and unread. Nonetheless, it sat, holding the power to change my life sealed within the white folds. A blue stamp marking the front, the stamp reading-

"Induction Notice. Shane Madej."


	2. Chapter 2

-1936-  
(Shane)

I fell asleep on his barn floor that night, surrounded by hay and smelling of dirt and alcohol. My face had been sore from the hours of laughter that bounced between us. It was strange how we had never met yet spoke to each other like we had been friends for years. Maybe we were meant to be, we had just been a bit behind schedule in our predestined meeting. Oh well, better late than never.

That summer, after school ended, we were inseparable. He would spend his mornings out on the fields working, then he would come over every day for lunch. He was always ravenous, eating more in one meal then I probably ever would in a week. My mother loved it, loved him, loved having someone else to cook for. Well at least after a while she did. She wasn't too keen about having him around at first. He always tracked in dirt from the field and smelled foul. But he was my first friend, and she wasn't going to turn him away, because who knew when I would be able to make another. Now he's over so often, I think sometimes she misses him when he doesn't show up.

"Ryan isn't coming over for lunch?" My mother had made roast beef, his favorite. She was watching the window, disappointment etched into the lines on her face.

"He is, just running late I'm sure."

She brightened up at this and began setting the table. He did eventually show up, and she scolded him for wearing his boots inside and we all ate together. Then we would go out into the woods and play by the creek, maybe skip rocks or play jacks with the girls on the main street.No matter what we did, we did it together. Sometimes we didn't do anything at all, we would just lay around in the sun and get drunk from the heat, just talking.

"I think that girl who works at the store likes you."

Ryan looked at me, wrinkling his nose. I could see beads of sweat along his brow, we were laying right in the sun, but we didn't move, just letting the heat soak in.

"Daisy? No-"

"Yes! She always gives you free candy, not me."

"Maybe I'm just nicer." He shot me a small smirk and I elbowed him in the side. He laughed, his breath smelling like sweets.

"You should ask her to the festival."

"Festival?" He rolled over on his side, leaning on his elbow, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"You haven't been to the fall festival? We have it the start of every September." I couldn't keep the surprise out of my voice.

"Never been." He gave a small shrug and rolled back over onto his back.

"Have you been to any of the festivals?" I was sitting up now, shocked at the idea that a kid, even one as weird as Ryan had never been to a festival. When he shook his head no I felt my jaw drop. He reached up and closed it with his hand, making me chuckle.

"You'll eat flies."

"Catch flies you mean?"

"Whatever, just lay back down, you're blocking the sun."

So I did, I let the festival thing slip from my mind for now and let the heat and the sickly sweet smell of Ryans breath fill the air. Time didn't really make sense then, the day swayed and bent with the heat waves, the clouds becoming a blur above and my head getting heavy with sleep. Most days I would let myself go, and fall into sleep, the warmth wrapping around me and warping my mind, leading to dreams of red candies and eating flies, and a friend who I was so immensely grateful to have.

-1944-

I woke up to the sound of a tea kettle whistling through my apartment. My eyes opened, heavy from sleep and carrying with them dreams of summer days I couldn't quite remember. I ran a hand down my face and let the dreams slip away, not bothering to try and remember what they were about. I swung my legs over my bed and saw faint orange light peeking through my window, horror-struck up my spine and I found myself racing to grab my clothes, struggling to pull them on as I stumbled out into the living room. From the kitchen, a familiar voice called out.

"Morning sunshine"

I had my shirt half pulled over my head as I made my way into the kitchen, finally getting it down as my eyes fall on the shorter man standing in my kitchen. He's holding a cup of tea, leaning against my counter. Biscuit crumbs are caught in his beard and I roll my eyes, reaching past him to grab my biscuits and stuff one hastily into my mouth. TJ grimaced at the display and took another long sip, looking away as I buttoned my pants. I felt a blush creep up my neck as I shot a glare at him.

"Why didn't you wake me up sooner? Did I sleep all day yesterday?" I looked at the time. I was supposed to be at work half an hour ago to meet about the paper sales. A groan rose in my throat and I turned to look in the mirror, hastily trying to make my hair look somewhat decent. TJ rolled his eyes and put his cup down.

"Heard about Lim, figured you'd need the beauty sleep. Wasn't wrong." He tapped his cheek and I looked with a wince at my cheekbone where Lim's rings had left a large cut, the skin around it was an angry pink. I sighed and gave my hair one last run through with my fingers and turned back to TJ.

"Any word on the sales?"

"The sales are good but Shane-" Concern began to creep into his tone.

"I'm good TJ, really it's nothing." I tap the mark on my cheek and smile. "Looks kinda badass right?"

"If that's what you want to call it." He chuckled and nodded at the clock. "C'mon they're waiting on us, also your zipper is down."

TJ heads for the door and I blush again, pulling up my zipper before following behind. As TJ opens the door he picked up a letter that's been delivered and tosses it on the nearest table. I make a mental note to check it later as I close the door behind me, heading out into the chilly street, wishing I had brought my scarf.

-1944-  
(Ryan)

I sat on an empty ammunition crate, sipping from a cantine and watching the gurneys rush by. I try to ignore the pounding in my head as I watched the wounded soldiers pass, scanning their faces for anyone familiar. So far no one from my barrack, except for Murphey, he hadn't survived long after he lost his leg. We would mourn the dead in the morning, tonight we were praying for those who lived.

"Hey Bergara, we got Kornfeld." My eyes darted up to Keith, who had peaked out of the medical tent, eyes looking red and swollen. I felt a familiar burn in my throat but I pushed the sickness down and got up, trying to disregard the way the world swirled around me as I stood. I followed the tall soldier into the tent and to a cramped corner where Zach was huddled, talking quietly with Eugene. There were bandages wrapped all around his torso, red splashes painting the white wrappings around his stomach. He was pale, the already small soldier seeming to look even meeker as he leaned against Eugene. As he saw me approaching he offered a weak smile, Eugene's eyes flicked to me as well, brown irises obviously swimming with worry. I gave a small nod to Zach as I crouched down next to him, giving his shoulder a small squeeze. None of us said much, there wasn't much to be said. We didn't ask if he was going to survive because we didn't want to know, we didn't ask how each other were feeling because we already knew. We all felt like shit, all of us huddled together, covered in dirt and sweat and blood, panting and silently wondering if surviving the last battle was even worth it. Because another one would come, and we would all be back here, maybe instead of two of us wounded there's two of us dead. In the trenches, there wasn't much difference. Either way, we always end up back here. Bloody, tired, and in this damn medical tent, praying for people we barely know because they're the only people who you've got. Keith was new, only came in a few months ago, yet here he is, crying over Zach like he's his brother. Zach might survive but even then, would be better off dying now or just waiting to die later.

That's all I seemed to do now. Wait to die. I wake up prepared to not go to sleep the next night, and when I do get to sleep I barely expect to wake up the next morning. Every moment I'm ready for some German to break down any door and put a bullet in my skull, at this point I don't think I would even mind. It's better than being here, watching a kid with a bullet in his back cling to life when all he can expect is to be shot again tomorrow.

And to think, I signed up for this.

-1944-  
(Shane)

The meeting went well, my article did especially well this week, I couldn't help but be pleased as I walked along the busy street, TJ struggling to keep up with my long strides.

"Could you slow down you behemoth!?" TJ caught up with me out of breath. I chuckled and looked into store windows as I passed by, looking at the ads for the newest appliances, eyes getting caught on the bright lettering. I didn't listen as TJ began going on about something about the papers. He was always talking about work, I tended to just tune it out for the most part. I looked at the advertisements for the various stores we passed, all comprised of bright lettering and smiling faces. I paused at one window, because the papers that hung behind that glass were a dull gray, sticking out among the sea of brightly depicted appliances and beauty products. These were papers most were accustomed to seeing, reports of the war, black and white photographs displaying the barracks. The men in the photographs were huddled together, looking less like men and more like ghosts trapped within the confines of the paper. Beside the photo was the lists, names of those who had died the past week, at least those whose bodies could be recovered. I felt a shudder slide up my spine as I looked at the pages of names, the thick black lettering seemed to be standing starkly against the white of the paper, reminding me of dark tombstones in a graveyard covered in snow, dark and foreboding in an otherwise beautiful landscape. 

(Ryan) 

Caskets were being loaded up with the newly dead. Caskets being a loose term as they were simply nailed into wood boxes with their nails carved into the front. The bodies were carried out away from the medical tent, to be shipped back to their families. Someone was taking down names, figuring out who was alive, who was dead and who was missing. Missing was the worst because you knew they were dead, you just didn't know where. 

(Shane) 

TJ stopped talking and was looking with me, as I glanced at him he looked, solemn eyes flicking over the names. The silence was heavy, pressing against my shoulders so I found myself talking again. Filling this emptiness that has made its way in the conversation, but it doesn't quite fit, seems wrong now to speak of anything else with those black letters glaring at you, so we kept walking. Our conversation continued as normal as we went back to my apartment, normal for us to continue working even after the workday was over, so as we discussed new story ideas, potential clients, hiring a new photographer, I allowed the odd feeling the black lettering gave me to pass. As the night got later we opened some scotch and had a drink, taking a break from the work and gossiping about whatever scandal was popular that week. 

"I heard he's had an affair with his secretary." TJ poured himself another drink, fingers tapping absently on the glass. 

"I thought he had that Andrew fellow doing his secretary work-" 

"Mhm" 

"Can't say I'm too surprised" I gave a shrug, TJ was mid-sip and laughed, splattering droplets of scotch all over the table. He went to grab a towel and picked something up, the letter I had gotten this morning. 

(Ryan) 

A general called everyone who was well enough to stand to attention. I moved into position with practiced precision. A man entered, one none of us recognized. "At ease!" We all relaxed, but the way this stranger looked at us, with eyes devoid of any emotion had left us all tense. The man cleared his throat and pulled out a sheet of paper. The way it was so neatly folded was unnerving, the sound of the paper crinkling sending shiver down my spine. 

(Shane) 

"Oh hand that here I forgot all about it" I extended a hand to receive the letter but TJ was studying the front, his expression suddenly dropping. His eyes flicked to me, his face going a bit pale. I felt a small twist in my stomach. 

"What has Mr.Lim made an advance on me now as well?" I tried cracking a joke, offering a smile but TJ didn't laugh. He gave a hard swallow and set the letter down on the table and slid it toward me. I took the paper in my hands, it was light, but as soon as I saw the black lettering on the front, it seemed to weigh heavier than the world in my hands. An induction notice. 

(Ryan) 

"We're sending extra troops to Japan." I could hear an intake of air from my fellow soldiers. Everyone was thinking the same thing Please don't let it be me. We haven't had it good in France, don't get me wrong, but at least we know this area. This place, as many horrible things we've seen, is oddly enough comforting in its big countrysides and warm skies. We didn't know anything about Japan, only that there are less English speakers and they have bombs, bombs that can destroy harbors and kill innocent people. While many of us at this point aren't anywhere near innocent, we still didn't want to be shipped off to unfamiliar territory. So we all sent out a silent prayer to not hear our names. He called out the names alphabetically. 

"Ryan Bergara" 

Mine was called third. 

(Shane) 

TJ began to speak but the world seemed to blur and dip around me, the words on the letter lunging at me, hitting me like a bullet in my ribs. All I could think about was that photograph of those soldiers, how through the barrier of that glass all of those men seemed too distant, detached from the reality I was currently living in. Of course, we're at war, everyone knows that. But here at home, the war seemed hundreds of miles away, now it was here sitting on my table. 

(Ryan) 

I couldn't react, I couldn't complain. I just saluted and felt the heavy weight now dragging my heart down to my feet. Off to Japan, away from France, from all the soldiers i've grown to know and trust. (Shane) I opened and closed my mouth a few times, trying to find the words, to find anything to say, but I couldn't come up with anything. Not a single thing, so I settled with the only two words I could muster. 

(Ryan) 

I could only think one thing, over and over repeating in my mind. 

"Well shit."


End file.
